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/brasil/ - O Fio Brasileiro.

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    also argentina won gillkoyim vai ser esquartejado feito tiradentes intankável esse bostil pinto cu bosta mijo rio grande do sul is white aryan and germanic rio grande do sul lost the rest of brapzil is full of shitskins
A man on the road restarts his life,
His purpose, his freedom;
That was lost, taken away.
And he wants to prove to himself that he has really changed.
That he has recovered and wants to live in peace,
Without looking back,
Saying to crime; "never again!".
Because his childhood wasn't a bed of roses, no,
In the FEBEM, painful memories, so. [Note 1]
Yes, make money, getting rich and that,
Many have died, fact, dreaming high like that.
Tell me who's happy,
Who doesn't fall in despair
Seeing their child born in the cradle of misery.
A place where the only attraction was;
The bar, and the candomblé to take the blessing.
This is the stage of the story that I will tell,
A man on the road.

[Note 1: FEBEM, Juvenile Detention Center]

Balanced in an uncomfortable ravine,
Badly finished and dirty;
But his only home, his asset and his refuge.
A horrible smell of sewage in the yard.
Above or below, if it rains it'll be fatal.
A part of hell, this is where I am,
Even the IBGE passed through here and never came back (and, and, and never came back). [Note 2]
They numbered the shacks, asked a lot of questions
Then they forgot, sons of bitches!
They found a dead and raped girl,
They must have been very angry.
(Man, so many blows)
She was unrecognizable,
Her face was disfigured.

[Note 2: IBGE, Government agency responsible for managing the population]

It was midnight and the body was still there
Covered with a sheet, dried out by the sun, dumped.
The IML was only ten hours late. [Note 3]
Yes, make money, and getting rich and that.
I wish my son never remembers this place,
That he has a safe life,
I don't want him to grow up
With a revolver around his waist and a mark on his head.
And the rest of the night
Sleepless, he thinks about what to do to get out of this situation.
Unemployed then,
With a bad reputation,
He lived in detention,
No one trusts him,
And this man's life has been damaged forever.
A man on the road.

[Note 3: IML, Government agency responsible for studying and managing human corpses]

Another day is dawning and everything is exactly the same,
Unbearable heat, 28 degrees.
There's no water, it's routine, monotony,
There's no deadline to come back, huh! It's been five days.
It's ten o'clock, the street is agitated,
An ambulance was called with extreme urgency.
Madness, exaggerated violence.
A dude blew up his own mother, he was drunk.
But well before the hangover he was judged,
Dragged down the street the poor guy,
The inevitable lynching, imagine that!
He got very ugly, they had no pity.
The rich campaign against drugs
And talk about its destructive power,
On the other hand, they promote it and make a lot of money
With the alcohol that is sold in the favela.

Drenched, he leaves, goes for a walk,
He doesn't believe what he sees, not in that way;
Children, cats, and dogs fight it out inch to inch
For their breakfast on the side of the market.
Kids with no future, I can already see it,
They only go to school to eat, nothing else,
How are they going to learn without encouragement from someone?
No pride and no respect,
No health and no peace.
A homie of mine was making money,
He bought a car, even a Rolex he had.
He was shot at point blank range at school,

Supplying the rich kids with flour.
He became famous, became news, earned money for the newspapers,
Hm, poster to the police.
Twenty years old, he reached the top
Superstar of Popular News.
A week later, crack arrived.
Rich people behind it, management.
Here, on the outskirts, there's plenty of misery.
A day's wage guarantees the labor,
The clientele has money and buys well.
Everything at home, a hot partner's coast,
The rich kids are crazy to the bone,
Selling drugs around here, big business.
Yes, making money, getting rich and that.
I want a better future, I don't want to die like this
In some morgue, as an indigent with no name and nothing.
A man on the road.

Robberies in the neighborhood raised shitoko Then they accused the favela, as usual.
And the rumor is that this man is
With his name there
On the list of suspects,
Nailed to the wall of the bar.
The night comes and the strange atmosphere in the air.
And he, without suspecting a thing, goes to sleep peacefully,
But in the quiet, they snitched his records,
As if it were an incurable disease.
On his arm the tattoo "DVC", must be a record, 157 under the law.
There's no one else on his side.
Criminal justice is ruthless,
They take away your freedom, family and morals,
Even away from the prison system.
They'll always call you an ex-con.
I don't trust the police, stupid fucking race!
If they find me shot on the sidewalk
They'll kick me in the face and spit on me, yeah,
I'd bleed to death, that's it, see ya!
That's why I do my own security.

It's dawn, everything seems normal.
But this man wakes up, sensing evil.
Lots of dogs barking.
He wakes up to the sound of cars and footsteps in the yard.
The neighborhood is quiet and insecure,
Premeditating the ending they already know well. At dawn in the favela there are no laws,
Maybe the law of silence, the law of the devil, maybe.
They're going to invade his shack, it's the police!
They've come to tear him apart, full of hate and malice.
Sons of bitches, carrion eaters!
They've already passed my sentence and I wasn't even in on the bullshit.
There aren't a few of them, and they've already come very mad,
To kill in crocodile fashion, they're not going to miss a trip.
Fifteen guys out there, different calibers,
And I only have a thirteen shot automatic.
It's me and me, my God and my Orixá.
At the first noise, I'm going to shoot!
If they catch me, my son will be left with no one
What do they want, another little black kid in FEBEM.
Yes, make money, getting rich, and that.
We dream all our lives and only wake up at the end.
My truth was different,
There's no time for anything-

A mulatto man appearing to be between twenty-five and thirty years old,
Was found dead on the M'Boi Mirim road without a number,
It seems to have been a settling of scores between rival gangs,
According to the police, the victim had "a long criminal record".
 
MoistPepper said:
A man on the road restarts his life,
His purpose, his freedom;
That was lost, taken away.
And he wants to prove to himself that he has really changed.
That he has recovered and wants to live in peace,
Without looking back,
Saying to crime; "never again!".
Because his childhood wasn't a bed of roses, no,
In the FEBEM, painful memories, so. [Note 1]
Yes, make money, getting rich and that,
Many have died, fact, dreaming high like that.
Tell me who's happy,
Who doesn't fall in despair
Seeing their child born in the cradle of misery.
A place where the only attraction was;
The bar, and the candomblé to take the blessing.
This is the stage of the story that I will tell,
A man on the road.

[Note 1: FEBEM, Juvenile Detention Center]

Balanced in an uncomfortable ravine,
Badly finished and dirty;
But his only home, his asset and his refuge.
A horrible smell of sewage in the yard.
Above or below, if it rains it'll be fatal.
A part of hell, this is where I am,
Even the IBGE passed through here and never came back (and, and, and never came back). [Note 2]
They numbered the shacks, asked a lot of questions
Then they forgot, sons of bitches!
They found a dead and raped girl,
They must have been very angry.
(Man, so many blows)
She was unrecognizable,
Her face was disfigured.

[Note 2: IBGE, Government agency responsible for managing the population]

It was midnight and the body was still there
Covered with a sheet, dried out by the sun, dumped.
The IML was only ten hours late. [Note 3]
Yes, make money, and getting rich and that.
I wish my son never remembers this place,
That he has a safe life,
I don't want him to grow up
With a revolver around his waist and a mark on his head.
And the rest of the night
Sleepless, he thinks about what to do to get out of this situation.
Unemployed then,
With a bad reputation,
He lived in detention,
No one trusts him,
And this man's life has been damaged forever.
A man on the road.

[Note 3: IML, Government agency responsible for studying and managing human corpses]

Another day is dawning and everything is exactly the same,
Unbearable heat, 28 degrees.
There's no water, it's routine, monotony,
There's no deadline to come back, huh! It's been five days.
It's ten o'clock, the street is agitated,
An ambulance was called with extreme urgency.
Madness, exaggerated violence.
A dude blew up his own mother, he was drunk.
But well before the hangover he was judged,
Dragged down the street the poor guy,
The inevitable lynching, imagine that!
He got very ugly, they had no pity.
The rich campaign against drugs
And talk about its destructive power,
On the other hand, they promote it and make a lot of money
With the alcohol that is sold in the favela.

Drenched, he leaves, goes for a walk,
He doesn't believe what he sees, not in that way;
Children, cats, and dogs fight it out inch to inch
For their breakfast on the side of the market.
Kids with no future, I can already see it,
They only go to school to eat, nothing else,
How are they going to learn without encouragement from someone?
No pride and no respect,
No health and no peace.
A homie of mine was making money,
He bought a car, even a Rolex he had.
He was shot at point blank range at school,

Supplying the rich kids with flour.
He became famous, became news, earned money for the newspapers,
Hm, poster to the police.
Twenty years old, he reached the top
Superstar of Popular News.
A week later, crack arrived.
Rich people behind it, management.
Here, on the outskirts, there's plenty of misery.
A day's wage guarantees the labor,
The clientele has money and buys well.
Everything at home, a hot partner's coast,
The rich kids are crazy to the bone,
Selling drugs around here, big business.
Yes, making money, getting rich and that.
I want a better future, I don't want to die like this
In some morgue, as an indigent with no name and nothing.
A man on the road.

Robberies in the neighborhood raised shitoko Then they accused the favela, as usual.
And the rumor is that this man is
With his name there
On the list of suspects,
Nailed to the wall of the bar.
The night comes and the strange atmosphere in the air.
And he, without suspecting a thing, goes to sleep peacefully,
But in the quiet, they snitched his records,
As if it were an incurable disease.
On his arm the tattoo "DVC", must be a record, 157 under the law.
There's no one else on his side.
Criminal justice is ruthless,
They take away your freedom, family and morals,
Even away from the prison system.
They'll always call you an ex-con.
I don't trust the police, stupid fucking race!
If they find me shot on the sidewalk
They'll kick me in the face and spit on me, yeah,
I'd bleed to death, that's it, see ya!
That's why I do my own security.

It's dawn, everything seems normal.
But this man wakes up, sensing evil.
Lots of dogs barking.
He wakes up to the sound of cars and footsteps in the yard.
The neighborhood is quiet and insecure,
Premeditating the ending they already know well. At dawn in the favela there are no laws,
Maybe the law of silence, the law of the devil, maybe.
They're going to invade his shack, it's the police!
They've come to tear him apart, full of hate and malice.
Sons of bitches, carrion eaters!
They've already passed my sentence and I wasn't even in on the bullshit.
There aren't a few of them, and they've already come very mad,
To kill in crocodile fashion, they're not going to miss a trip.
Fifteen guys out there, different calibers,
And I only have a thirteen shot automatic.
It's me and me, my God and my Orixá.
At the first noise, I'm going to shoot!
If they catch me, my son will be left with no one
What do they want, another little black kid in FEBEM.
Yes, make money, getting rich, and that.
We dream all our lives and only wake up at the end.
My truth was different,
There's no time for anything-

A mulatto man appearing to be between twenty-five and thirty years old,
Was found dead on the M'Boi Mirim road without a number,
It seems to have been a settling of scores between rival gangs,
According to the police, the victim had "a long criminal record".
Click to expand...
bomba nuclear de mqnl
 
Onzikin said:
That's considered a freezing winter for nordestinos.
Click to expand...
1767493029480.png
remédio agora (ia colocar piatã mais não tem na wikipédia)
 
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